Psychic Strings

A recent conversation with T Rex. About weirdness, coincidence and who knows what.

“I Was never going to tell this story. It is a 100% true account of, probably, the weirdest event of my life. I didn’t want to share it because it is so weird I didn’t think people would accept it. I recently mentioned this to a friend. She said, “ You’re weird and we accept you.” So here goes.

I believe that some people are psychically connected. Most people have had the experience of walking into a room full of strangers, and immediately making eye contact with someone you have always known. But never met. Psychic strings. We send them and we receive them. We can’t understand them. Don’t even try. Maybe we recognize the battle scars. The trophies earned. Earned the hard way. Just so you know, I checked Mrs.T’s notes before telling you about this. I have been known to exaggerate. She didn’t.

We were spending a month in Flagstaff, Arizona. Mrs.T loved to scour the local papers for interesting things to do. She found that there was going to be a gigantic swap meet with a demonstration of Portuguese Dancing Horses. Wow! Gotta go. Swap meets can be gigantic affairs. People selling just about anything. Because of the attraction of the horses and the beautiful weather, there were over nineteen thousand people in attendance that Saturday. I know the number because I checked later.

We spent about three hours roaming around, but, didn’t have occasion to talk to anyone. Unusual for us, but true. On our way out, we happened to see a vendor dressed up as a mountain man selling knives. Neither Mrs.T nor I had any interest in knives, but were “ compelled “ to go to this booth. Almost a magnetic attraction. Something you almost had to do. No choice. Maybe it was his unusual attire that drew our attention. Maybe.

Within a very few minutes, we learned that:
He came to Flagstaff at the age of eight.
After being adopted from Highland Heights Orphanage in New Haven, Ct. In 1946.

I was in that same orphanage at the same time. Chances are we knew each other.
In a terrible, terrible place over sixty years earlier.

How can this be? Across the country over sixty years later. You talk to one person. ONE PERSON. And you knew each other a lifetime ago. We talked only briefly. We were both very uncomfortable with each other. Revisiting the most devastating part of our lives. We perhaps had much more in common. Maybe could have become friends. But, we both knew that we needed to put this fortuitous meeting behind us. So we walked away. Totally shaken.

I wish I could describe the feelings that coursed through my head as we talked. Flashbacks to a time and place that I can’t describe. Even sitting here, retelling the story, my stomach is doing flips and I kind of wish I had left it buried.

I have thought about this many times over the years. Never told a soul. It stormed into my head this morning. As thoughts sometimes do. Trying to escape. I’ve been trying to decide whether to rip off the bandage and tell you the story, or put this back in its now seventy-six-year-old coffin. Maybe exposing it to fresh air will help exorcise some old ghosts that have preyed on me all these years. I hope shining a light on some dark memories will ease some long-forgotten, but, always remembered pain.

And maybe sharing will resonate with others. Maybe some of your readers can emphasize. Maybe someone can turn darkness into light. Maybe…”

Well, that’s all the news from Ratcheds, a quirky little town on the beach, where everyone is beautiful, above average, and one degree off-center.

Fred Prout